


Sentimental Journey

by ritsuko



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, Music, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes home one night to find Bucky in his living room. The only problem is, Bucky still doesn't remember him. Can Steve help his friend regain his memories of all that they mean to each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Heard that Song Before

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted this fic to be closely linked with music that Steve and Bucky would have listened to back in the day. 
> 
> The first selection is [I've Heard that Song Before](https://www.youtube.com/watch?list=PLGTqtuH-mAt98gzvhz6dTSmHewuERSkth&v=tX5S9iXmMek&feature=player_detailpage) in 1942. 
> 
> Enjoy~

"Nat, please, just stop trying to set me up with dates, okay?" Steve precariously balanced a paper bag full of groceries on one knee as he keyed into his apartment. His phone was smooshed between his shoulder and cheek, but he could still her exasperated sigh.

"I'm just saying, you've been alone for a long time, Rogers." She snarked, and he could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Might do you some good to meet someone. Go to a club. Go dancing." 

The key finally slid into place. Steve chuckled as the door swung open. "I'm sure dance halls have changed a lot since I used to go. People don't dance like Fred and Ginger anymore."

"Mores the shame of that." Natasha stated, and it geniunely sounded like she believed it. It made him wonder more about her, what kind of music she listened to, what kinds of foods she liked. Things that it was normal to know about your friends. He at least thought they were friends. Maybe. "But where else are you going to meet anyone?"

He set the groceries on the counter, and righted the phone, holding it back up next to his ear. "There's a lot of things that have changed that are just incredibly weird, I mean, dancing like kids dance these days? No one would have been caught dead grinding on someone. That would be considered third base in my day." Steve joked, trying to steer the topic away from the continual battle of 'Steve needs a date'. It wasn't that he wasn't interested, it was just that he already knew who he wanted to be with.

And it wasn't anyone that the woman would ever guess.

"You sound like an old man." The redhead groused, and Steve rummaged in the shopping bag, picking out the gallon of milk and setting it on the counter.

"Ha ha. Not the first time I've heard-" A small noise in the other room cut him off, and he paused. Straining, he listened for a repeat. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but with everything that had happened, he was mentally cursing how easy it was to drop your guard within the safety of your home.

Nat immediately picked up on it. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. Just putting groceries away, and ah, my milks about to go off." It sounded fake even to his own ears and he winced.

"You're a terrible liar." Nat didn't sound impressed. She sounded like she was ready to rush over with guns blazing.

"I know just. . . I'm going to have to call you back, okay?" He pleaded. The last thing he wanted to do was worry anyone, but at this point, if it was an assassin or a rogue HYDRA agent, he'd probably already be dead, brains and groceries on the floor. He grimaced.

There was a silence over the line, and then a sigh. "Twenty minutes."

"I might not. . ."

"Twenty minutes, Rogers!" The Russian snapped, then the phone line went dead. Silently, the super soldier set the milk and the phone down, knowing that she had already started the countdown on her end. With a sigh, he made his way to the living room.

After the last month of lies, murder, violence and revelations, there wasn't much that could phase the blonde at this point. Except that the last time he had come into his apartment and heard a noise, there was an injured Nick Fury sitting in his living room. Regardless, he'd have to invest in better alarms. Maybe get a dog.

There were two ways he could do this, round the corner and creep about, or walk straight in. There wasn't that much that could hurt him, although mid-step in choosing the latter option, he realized just how stupid a move it could be. 

He stopped mid step.

Bucky Barnes stood in his living room.

Steve's hands dropped to his sides, shock on his face. "Buck-" He whispered, not knowing if he dared to believe that this was actually real. In the last four weeks, he had seen Bucky on street corners, through shop windows, and other various places, only to be let down when the person wasn't his best friend at all. Just figments of his imagination. He had searched for any lead following snippets of rumors and old HYDRA files to a dead end every time. 

And here he was, standing in the in his apartment like it was nothing. Bucky wasn't wearing the Winter Soldier's uniform, but jeans, a flannel shirt and a white v-neck. His hair was pulled up under a baseball cap, messy strands falling out. Steve vaguely wondered where the other man had gotten the clothes.

The man looked spooked, unsure and ready to escape at any second. 

It was then that Steve took note of the picture in the other man's hand, the photograph within was old and worn, but the frame was new. It was something that Peggy had given to him on one of his many visits with her during a lucid spell. As age worn at it was, all of the faces of the Howling Commandos were etched in time, gone, but not forgotten. Smiles and friendships ingrained in the past.

The silence stretched on, and Steve swallowed. He wasn't sure if he should say anything. If he scared Bucky off, he wasn't sure what he would do with himself if he lost the other man again. If he could handle it.

After what seemed like ages, he spoke, a soldier used to being precise but not heard. "I know this." It was gravelly with disuse, soft and clipped, but it was Bucky's voice.

Steve's heart felt like it was going to burst, and with a smile, he took a step forward. To his dismay, Bucky took a step back, towards the open window. So the blonde retracted his step, and spoke softly. "Do you remember them?"

Those gray-blue eyes were turbulent, flicking rapidly from the photo to the man in front of him. "No."

His heart fell, grin faltering. Perhaps the past had been completely erased, never to return to him.

"But I remember you."

The words were barely audible, like Bucky'd been muzzled for the last seventy years, only allowed to speak when spoken to. Perhaps he had. Steve allowed hope to overcome his fears. "What do you remember?"

"There was a train. I fell." Steve swallowed hard, looking at the floor. This had always been his worst nightmare, Bucky's resentment of him for not being able to save him. "You were there. You held out your hand. You looked. . ."

Bucky's voice tapered off. The blonde looked up to see him slowly putting the picture back on the shelf. He turned as if to leave, and Steve felt tears start to brim.

"Bucky, please, don't go.""

"I don't even know who Bucky is." He stated hollowly, turning back to Steve. He could make up the distance between them in just three steps, but that distance might as well have been half a world away. 

The blonde smiled encouragingly at him. "Let me tell you. I know everything about you, Buck."

Bucky looked down at his feet, confusion playing over his features. "Not everything. I've done things. . . I. . . things I'm not sure that this 'Bucky' would do." Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. "I. . . HYDRA was. . . is. . ." The words won't come to him, everything so jumbled and messed up in his head. He can tell it's a struggle for him to even be here.

"It doesn't matter. You're not the things that they made you do. You're James Buchanan Barnes. You're a loyal soldier, a good man. You're my best friend, you always have been. Whatever they made you do, it's in the past. It's not your fault."

Bucky looked up, gray eyes haunted. He swallowed. "I don't think you'd say that if you knew even a fraction of what I've done."

Steve shook his head, heart twisting. "It's in the past." He reiterated. "I don't need to know, because it's what they told you to do, not what you wanted to do. You can't tell me that any part of that was anything that you willingly agreed to do."

He looked away, and Steve knew he was going to bolt, could feel it with every part of his being. The question was, if he tried to stop him, will Bucky let him, or would it spook him more?

"Here, let me show you something."

He could feel Bucky's gaze burning his back as he walked over to the stereo, but the other man didn't try to run. It had been a gift from Nat, since she'd thought that his apartment was wholly depressing and under-furnished. Also, she'd bought a giant book of CD's for him, all the top hits from the twenties to current. Steve had never been sure when he would have the time to actually listen to everything, but now seemed as good as any.

After skimming through the playlist on one and prepping it, Steve stood back, and let the disc play. The upbeat tune of a trumpet filled the room, backed by a band. The song was old by today's standards, but familiar to Steve. He hoped it would be something that Bucky could remember.

_It seems to me I've heard that song before_  
 _It's from an old familiar score_  
 _I know it well, that melody_  
 _It's funny how a theme recalls a favorite dream_  
 _A dream that brought you so close to me. . ._

There was a flicker in Bucky's eyes, and he dared to hope that even for a moment, Bucky might be thinking of dance halls, live music, hell, anything from 'the good ol' days'. Even the times in the war. It didn't matter as long as there was something, anything that the other man could grasp onto. A life raft to bring him out of the murky waters of the soldier, and back to himself. The woman's soft voice continued.

_I know each word because I've heard that song before_  
 _The lyrics said "Forever more"_  
 _Forever more's a memory_  
 _Please have them play it again_  
 _And I'll remember just when_  
 _I heard that lovely song before. . ._

The song ended, and there was a silence. Bucky looked thoughtful, about to speak, when suddenly, Steve's cell started to ring. He cursed internally. Natasha was probably going to start pounding on his door if he didn't answer. That was the trouble, he never knew exactly where in the world she actually was.

"Just one sec, Buck." He said, quickly walking into the kitchen to grab the phone. He clicked it on and hissed, "Not now."

"What the hell is going on there?" She demanded.

"I have company."

"I gathered that."

"I need to go now."

She mumbled something in Russian, and even though he didn't known the meaning of the words, he knew that she was less than pleased at being kept in the dark. Quickly he hung up, making his way back into the living room.

He didn't care, the only important thing was-

. . .gone. Steve rushed to the window, but Bucky was long gone.

He slumped against the wall in defeat.


	2. I'll Never Smile Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's musical selection is [I'll Never Smile Again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=il7DWoLySW8) from 1940.

The next time he saw Bucky, he knew he was being tailed. He'd felt that way for days actually, and was now opening himself to the possibility that yes, someone was watching him. It was always over something menial, going to the grocery store, or a for a run. He just assumed that being someone as high profiled as Captain America, someone might always be watching.

This time, he was just coming out of a Starbucks, a Trenta Americano in hand. It didn't do much for him, but the taste was enough to remind him of being huddled around a campfire passing around awful coffee, and the feeling like home was the friends around you, the things you could accomplish together.

There were people scurrying everywhere, to jobs, to errands, to wherever. There was an efficiency that was never present in the forties, everyone and everything moves so fast nowadays. It isn't like he can't keep up, but continual references to things he's never experienced can be mind boggling. 

The feeling of being watched shivered through his spine as he pressed the cup to his lips, something moved sharply to his right. But instead of looking, he just took a sip and walked into the crowd. It's not something he'd normally do, there's no way he would want to endanger others. 

But it's different. He's willing to take a chance that it's not some terrorist or HYDRA agent, or paparazzi.

He crossed the street, and made his way to a little park several blocks from the coffee shop. Steve had found it one morning during a jog. Just a quiet little piece of greenbelt on the river with a couple of benches. Sitting, he took another sip of coffee, relishing it. He waited.

Robins twittered and pecked at the grass in front of him, and he relaxed, sunlight dappled through the tree leaves. It was hard to think that all around him everyone else is bustling off to other things. But there was no where to go and no one to be with for a man out of time. 

He could call Sam, but he knew that he was busy with the VA. They see each other a couple nights a week for game nights anyway, as well as morning runs. Steve doesn't want to be a burden.

Natasha's off the grid, and Fury. . . well, he hopes that the man isn't dead. He doesn't have a close enough bond with any of the other Avengers to even think about contacting them.

It wasn't so bad. He might be alone, but there's hope. Hope he assumed that was standing in the trees watching him.

But he never turned to check.

He knew it was Bucky without even looking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a light lunch and meandering about for awhile, Steve went home. There'd been a quick run in with a group of girls who had recognized him and asked for selfies, to which he tried to decline but their pouts were too hard to ignore. He was sure that he'd be getting grief for it from Fury or Natasha at any moment.

With a sigh, he set his bag on the counter. While out, he bought a new sketchbook. It had been way too long since he'd drawn anything, perhaps he would take it up again. Briefly, he wondered whatever happened to his old sketchbook. Maybe Peggy had kept it, maybe it was somewhere in the annals of the Smithsonian. Maybe it was lost in the middle of a foreign country, dropped and discarded.

_That blown open train car. Bucky barely hanging on. Reaching out desperately, but it's too far. . ._

Steve shook his head. He'd never discarded his friend. But his own life, that became so much easier to sacrifice with Bucky gone.

When he walked into the living room, his heart soared. Bucky was sitting unannounced in one of the chairs, closest to the window, thumbing through a book full of Captain America memorabilia from the Smithsonian. Nat had gotten it for him as a joke, but there was something about the book, about the whole display at the Smithsonian that made him feel like that was another man, another time. That being thawed in this era had turned him into some kind of resurrected relic, constantly alone and confused by the new normal.

It must have been even worse for Bucky. 

The brunette doesn't even look up, but his right hand is stilled on the page, and Steve can see a picture of the two of them between his splayed fingers. It's from when he'd just freed Bucky back in Italy, the two of them smiling broadly, leaning on each other, each a support and a rock for the other.

_You've always been there for me._

The silence stretched, and Steve let it. He could see the tenseness throughout Bucky's frame, as if he was warring internally with fight or flight. Gradually, he relaxed.

"You were so big." Bucky murmured, and Steve blinked up at the sound, still trying to be calm, trying to allow the other man to process his emotions. Biting his lip, he looked up at Steve, eyes cloudy with hesitant memories. "You used to be smaller, and then suddenly you were bigger than me."

The blonde nodded, a soft smile on his lips. "Yeah."

"I was strapped to that table so long. . . an' they kept. . . it's hard to think about." Bucky grimaced.

"You don't have to think about it, Buck."

"But I need to know, I need to remember!" Bucky cried out, regret and loss saturating the notes. "I can't just be. . . whatever I am. I'm not this 'hero' in a book who sacrificed everything. I'm not some 'good soldier'." He shuddered visibly, and Steve wanted so badly to reach out to him. "There's only snippets. Pieces of a life I barely remember. All categorized neatly for me in books. Do you know what that feels like, your life being summed up for you?"

Steve gave a wry smile, and leaned back against the wall. "You think I don't? Everyone thinks I'm some goody two shoes who never has a hair out of place and doesn't curse or start fights. Everyone acts like I'm some kind of saint."

". . . better than being a demon." Bucky muttered, and Steve's lips creased into a hard frown. 

"You are not some kind of monster, Bucky. HYDRA, they're the monsters. They did these things, and they used you-"

"And how weak am I that I was used?" The brunette snapped. "I bet if it was you, you would have never given in. You would have risen above the beatings, the treatments. You would have never said 'Hail HYD-'" Bucky choked back a cry, bringing his hand to his eyes. 

Steve couldn't help himself, he crossed the floor and knelt at the side of the chair, still allowing Bucky the space to escape if he needed. "Bucky, everything that they did to you is awful. But you can't compare us. I can't even say that were our places switched, I wouldn't have met the same fate as you." Cautiously, he reached a hand out, and stroked Bucky's hair, relieved when the other man didn't shirk away. "The only thing we can do now is move forward. You're Bucky Barnes, a good man and my best friend. Nothing else matters to me."

Bucky was silent a long time, and Steve just stroked his hair, allowing his friend to cry silently. When he felt the sobs subside he started to worry that the other man would leave quickly, find some way out.

"Where have you been staying?" The instant the words passed his lips, he knew that he shouldn't have asked. Bucky looks caged in, worried. "I'm just asking, because if you don't have anywhere to go, you're welcome to stay here. The couch pulls out, or, you know, you can just have my room. Your own bed, a little privacy."

Bucky blanched. "My own. . . bed?"

Steve nodded. "If you want it."

The brunette stared at him, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. His voice was barely a whisper. "I've never had a bed before. . . not that I remember."

The blonde's heart hurt just looking at the other man. "I'm sorry."

He looks up, confusion apparent. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because, I wish that I had known you were alive. That I could have gone back and helped you. I should have saved you, Bucky." Steve said sadly, regret permeating his voice. The brunette looks up at him, calculating.

"Should've, could've, would've." Bucky stated drily, and rose from the chair. Steve moved back, trying to give him space, just in case. "You shouldn't focus on the things that could have been done."

"Just like you shouldn't focus on how you did things you had no control over. It wasn't you." Steve stated, and Bucky winced.

". . . tell that to the families of all the people that the Winter Soldier assassinated, Steve."

Then he was taking a step towards the window, making his escape from too many feelings. The blonde clammed up, wracking himself, thinking of anything, anything at all that he could say that would make the other man stay. 

"I'll leave the window open. Put fresh sheets on the bed. Please, just, if you want to stay. I'd never hurt you, Buck. I just want to know you're safe." His voice sounded childish, pleading. But he didn't care. He just wanted Bucky to stay.

But that metal hand was already on the windowsill, Bucky's face set with resolve. ". . . we'll see."

And then, he was gone, a shadow absorbed by the lazy afternoon sun.

Steve stood in that place for a long time, heart hurting, wishing that the other man would just come back. Finally, he turned to the stereo and pressed play, overcome by thoughts of there past, of hopes of his friend coming back to him again.

_I'll never smile again_  
Until I smile at you  
I'll never laugh again  
What good would it do?  
For tears would fill my eyes  
My heart would realize  
That our romance is through  
I'll never love again  
I'm so in love with you  
I'll never thrill again  
To somebody new  
Within my heart  
I know I will never start  
To smile again  
Until I smile at you 

It would take time. . . It had been decades before they had been reunited, but now, even every little moment of waiting for Bucky to come around was a cold worse than anything he'd ever felt.

He had to trust. He had to believe that he could melt the memories from the pain, and make Bucky his again.


End file.
